


Slice of D&D: Ruadhán

by Kaeshi



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Chromatic Dragon, Dragon Dad, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Player Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaeshi/pseuds/Kaeshi
Summary: A child born to a red dragon. His entire world is the inside of his Father's hoard. Dancing is his life, just like it is to his Mother. Looking back, it was definitely a simpler time... A memory of younger days.-=-=-=-=-=-Short glimpse into my character's backstory for a Savage Tide D&D 5e campaign. Though technically a half-dragon, mechanically, Ruadhán is a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer of the Shifter race (for extra Draconic flavor).Give this story a read if you like the idea of Dragons Being Dads!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Slice of D&D: Ruadhán

**Author's Note:**

> If you decided to click on this story completely on a whim, you, dearest reader, are the real MVP.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

"Father! Lord Father, look!", came a familiar call, echoing down the stone walls, interruping his naptime musings.

 _Look_.  
He huffed, a puff of smoke escaping from his nostrils. That was the child's favorite word. Always hungry for attention. He might as well grant him an audience. See what the fuss is all about this time.

He rises his head to meet the tiny thing at eye level, where he stands bouncing on the ledge of the cave wall, a balcony of sorts that connects to the rest of his collection, meticulously carved into the rock itself. 

"What is so important that it requires my immediate attention, child?", he demands in an imperious voice, making the ground shake.

The boy bursts into a fit of giggles, covering his ears. 

"You _dare_ laugh in the presence of a true dragon?", he adds, towering over the child so that his fangs are square in his face, "I ought to eat you alive for your indiscretion!" 

He doesn't even look a bit sorry. 

"Father, stop! I can feel your voice in my chest! Makes my ribs tingle!", he yells back, reaching up with his tiny hands for an embrace and smooshing his face against his chin.

He shall let it slide yet again. He shall allow it even.

He pulls back with a huff and the child lets go, making that little skip-and-step-back he always does before finding the correct stance and then dipping his body into a graceful bow. 

His mother taught him to do that. 

_Fit for someone of your stature_ , she had said, with that hateful, self-satisfied smile of hers. By all accounts, it shouldn't be possible for a lowly creature such as her to adorn her countenance with such a haughty expression, so akin to a dragon's. Yet she did it all the same. 

And he would have crushed her to death too, had she been lying about it, but in fact, he had seen the humans do the same motion before their kings as well, if a lot less dignified. 

Groveling was all well and good, but frankly, rather pathetic. It was somehow more pleasing to him, more befitting of them even, as prized pieces of his collection, to bow in such a way that managed to show more reverence towards him without having to soil their knees. He is a dragon after all. Shouldn't he be treated more regally than a human king?

He returns the gesture with a brief nod of his own, satisfied with the formalities for now. Crossing his front legs in front of him, he flicks his tail, and gets comfortable in his bed of treaure, coins crinkling softly under his belly.

"What brings you before me, Ruadhán?", he says, his voice a pleasant rumble.

The child's eyes light up, "Father, I-- 

He cocks his head to one side, and the boy obediently makes the switch to Draconic. 

"--I was practicing with Mother all the day-"

"All day," he corrects.

"All day! Yes. We danced all morning," he says, moving his hands around each other in a circle above his head, "Stopped at…midday. Ate lunch, then danced all afternoon too."

He bounces around from one foot to the other as he speaks, unable to stand still, a sort of playful skipping but with more deliberate footwork.

"Lots of practice, at the bar. Basics. Leg…movements? No. …Father, what's the word for putting your leg like this?"

"Position?"

He considers it for a moment, frowning, "And your body has to be in the correct place too?"

"Posture, then?"

"Posture," he repeats, getting the feel of the unfamiliar word in his mouth, "Leg posture-s, mostly. Oh! And spinning on one foot too! I like those. I'm good at that. And we finished. A little time ago. I am doing better, I think. Mother didn't say a lot, but she was…um, saying yes, with her head. Remember I showed you my…"

He pauses again, thinking of the right word, "…How do you say… Ugh! I don't know the names of the steps in Draconic, Father! Well, this," 

He steps into position, arms held out for balance. As he takes a small step forward, the opposite leg follows by swinging up and unfolding to its full length in the air, the tip of his toes reaching towards the ceiling before coming back down. Swift and forceful, like a finger snap, and yet incredibly graceful. He nods in appreciation.

"Like that!", he says, pointing at his head, "How do you say that? She was doing it too."

"Nodding."

"Right! Well, remember that Mother kept saying I did it too slow, or too low? That my… jumps were too sloppy and I had to stretch more? And then I had to stretch real more, so when I jumped, it would be correct?"

"I recall."

"So. Today, I did it correct! I could make the... Well, it's a big jump! You have to stretch out both legs like this, but in the air. Let me show you!"

"Hmm, very well. I shall accept your request, make it worth my time,"

"Yes!", he says, running back towards the wall of the cave, "Father! Are you looking?" he calls, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to contain his excitement. 

"Yes, I see you. Go on then," he grumbles, the corner of his lip curling ever so slightly, "Do a _pirouette_ ," he adds, using the word in Common. 

"Yes!"

With that one last enthusiastic response, the child settles back down, turning that pent up energy into focus. He falls into a familiar stance, ready to begin.

He starts off with a trot, gliding with the airy steps of a dancer, concentration etched into his face. About halfway down the runway towards the ledge, he takes the leap. As he described, it is a perfect split in the air, landing back down on just one foot. 

Instead of stopping right after sticking the landing, he keeps going forward, transfering his momentum into a second leap. Less polished than the first, but still managing a somewhat decent second full split.

A few inches from the edge of the rocky outcrop, he transitions from his landing into a different move. Arranging his arms and feet in the appropiate places, he brings his foot up against the knee on his opposite leg, and makes a single turn standing on tiptoe. A pirouette.

Easing back into both feet, he signals the end of his little routine with the position of his arms and feet, the very picture of poise. He can almost listen to him counting the seconds in his mind as he holds the pose, just long enough to do it right. It is very important for him to do it just so, or else his mother wouldn't give her approval. 

Then, as if on cue, he springs back up, "I did it! Father, did you see? Was it to your liking?"

The dragon doesn't clap or smile, but instead brings his right claw up towards the boy.

"Be mindful of where you are standing," he says in a level voice, pressing his clawtip into Ruadhán's chest, and pushing him back a couple of steps, "Do not set foot so close to the edge."

The child makes that face where he scrunches up his brow, and looks like he's biting on his lower lip, except he's actually just pressing them together. Pouting, as his mother calls it. 

"I did not hear your response," he says, bringing his claw up to raise the boy's chin towards him.

"Yes, my lord," he mutters, averting his gaze towards the floor.

"Much better," he nods, sitting back once more.

"Father, please, I know where to stop. I'm not a baby! I don't fall!" he says, with a remarkable imitation of his own huffing. 

That would be inconceivably rude if it wasn't coming from this one particular child. As an adult, he can't exactly get worked up about a hatchling snapping its jaws at him from time to time. Falling for such harmless taunting would be the real insult. 

"Mother is telling me all the time too. 'Get away from there!', he adds, mimicking his mother's voice, "'Get back here! Not so close, Ruadhán!'", he skips to the side, landing on one foot on purpose, perilously close to the brink.

Another skip, his toes hugging the lip of the rocky outcrop, balancing on one foot, and raising his leg behind him. A cheeky one, this child of his. 

He's about to say something, when the boy makes a third leap, spinning in the air to land with his back towards the ledge. 

"See? I know what I'm--", he stumbles, eyes wide, as the ground breaks and crumbles away from under him. He lets out a startled gasp.

And suddenly, he's falling.

A rag doll tumbling off its shelf.

He couldn't have been airborne for more than a couple of heartbeats, truly no more than that. 

On pure reflex, the dragon whips out his hand and the boy lands flat on his back with a small _oomph_ , safely inside his Father's claw.

After giving him a quick look over with his trained eye for detail, the dragon deposits the terrified child carefully back on top of the ledge. He's trembling and gasping for air, but otherwise unharmed. 

"You were saying, little red one? Ruadhán?", he says, with just the slightest hint of teasing in his voice. 

The boy looks back up, somehow with enough nerve to frown at him despite being down on his hands and knees, and tears welling up in his eyes. 

He can approve of that look in his eyes. It is one thing to be scared half to death, but another to show it. He is a dragon after all.

There is no reply. His breathing is going in and out too quickly, as if it gets cut short every time, and the dragon is not sure if it's some sort of sobbing or hiccups. Or a spasm.

"Easy now, you're breathing too fast, sucking air like that. You'll get light-headed."

"…I-I… I wasn't afraid," he says, still shaking from head to toe, "I'm not- I'm not crying…", he adds, wiping his face with his hands. He lets out a sob.

"That's not a very convincing lie."

Moving closer with a heavy sigh, the dragon wraps his fingers around the child, picking him up, and placing his thumb over Ruadhán's chest, as if he could subdue his racing heart just by holding him in his grasp. 

"Be still, child," he says, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating almost like a purr, those tiny hands clinging to him, "Where's all that cheek you were giving me just a moment ago? …Keep it together, your magic is in disarray."

Enveloped in his Father's oppresive heat and the pulse of his magic beating calmly all around him, Ruadhán's breathing steadies back down, his magic gradually attuning to his. As all the tension leaves his body, he finally breaks down in tears, followed by a soft whimpering sound. It reminds the dragon of a hatchling squeaking in distress. 

"I didn't m-mean to fall…", he stutters, pushing a sob down his throat somewhat forcefully, "You know I am always careful. …Always! I would have landed just right too!"

There is some anger to it, frustration perhaps, but it is mostly fear. He can smell it. 

"Indeed. A moment of hubris is a dangerous thing for a dragon, it can cost you your life in the blink of an eye. Everything lost in an instant. You would do well to remember this feeling, that you might get it through that head of yours to obey your Father when he tells you to stay away from the edge of the shelf."

He finishes with a stern voice, the faintest hint of a growl low in his throat. He can feel Ruadhán's head rubbing against his finger, nodding meekly. 

"…And be thankful that you were in my presence, that I could catch you before you spilled your brains all over the floor of my lair," he adds, lowering the child back down, "That's enough, I can't hold you much longer than this."

The child stays glued to his thumb as he makes to slide him off his palm and set him back down on the ledge. Ruadhán keeps dangling off his fingertip even as he's pulling his hand away, right up until it's too far from the ground that he has no choice but to let go. 

He stands on wobbly legs for a moment before his knees buckle under him, which he somehow uses to end up sitting primly instead of crumpling down like a regular person should. No doubt something from his dancing repertoire, with the legs tucked neatly under him. 

Ruadhán looks glumly up at him from his place on the floor, his face flushed bright red. At least for now, he seems to have calmed down for the most part, rubbing his eyes and nose, and occassionally interrupting the silence with a loud sniffle.

"…My legs feel like jelly…", he says, letting his body continue to sink and slump until he's lying down on his side, all tuckered out for the moment. 

"Aye, child, nearly dying does that to you. It will pass."

"Has it happened to you before, Father?"

"… …Who's to say?"

"You have wings. You would not be afraid of falling."

"All creatures, even dragons, are bound to come across mortal danger at least once during their lifetimes. Having a close call means that you have a chance to wisen up. Learn from it, that you may not have to experience it again if you can avoid it."

"…Yes, my lord…", he mumbles, letting out a tired sigh and closing his eyes.

The dragon stretches comfortably too. Using his claws and tail, he gathers the scattered treasure into a tighter pile around him, the better to lie down on. After a while, Ruadhán speaks up again.

"…I um… I wanted to dance more. Try again, that jump. The one I did right after, it was no good. The form was awful."

It feels to him as if Ruadhán sounds even more miserable now than he did before. He considers it for a moment, curling and uncurling his tail lazily.

"It lacked the polish of the first one, that is true. Making consecutive leaps increases the difficulty, does it not? Still, I believe you delivered what you described, which was to stretch out both legs in the air in that big jump of yours. I found it worthwhile."

He perks up at that, propping himself up on his arms, the spark returning to his eyes. 

"…I'll do it again tomorrow! I'll do it better. The right way- Correct- No! Father, how do you say 'flawless'?"

A sly grin stretches across the dragon's maw, baring all of his sharp, pointy teeth. 

" _Red dragon_ ", he replies.

Ruadhán chortles, "No, Father, not that one! The real one."

"There is no other one. It would be my own name, then."

He chuckles again, quietly amused, as he lies back down.

"…Dad."

"I am your Lord and Father, child."

"Father… Will you have to tell Mother? That I almost fell?"

"Hm… I don't think it will come up in casual conversation… Unless she notices there's something wrong with you. …Can you stand up now?"

"I think so."

He goes about it slowly, sitting back up, then shifting to all fours, and finally up on his feet. He still looks fairly stiff, but he takes a couple of tentative steps, keenly aware of the distance between himself and the ledge. 

"I think I'm fine," he says, falling into that familiar gait he uses to practice, "It feels weird if I try to stand on just one leg, but it's fine. We're done, for today. Mother won't notice."

Just as he finishes saying that, he attempts a simple spin, and it's as if he stumbles over his own feet and tumbles down to the floor, lying down in a heap.

The dragon narrows his eyes, "…You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

He giggles quietly, "You could tell?"

"Did your Mother teach you how to do that too? For what purpose?"

He rolls over until he's lying on his back, stretching his legs up in the air and flexing them idly as he explains.

"Yes. Um, if you make a mistake, you know how to fall, and not get hurt. But this one is not that. This is a pretend fall. For acting, in a story. When a character dies on stage."

"I see. What story did you have in mind just now?"

"…Nothing, I just don't want to go," he admits with a sheepish pout, "May I stay a while longer? Please?"

"Hm… Very well, I shall allow it," he declares, with a small hint of a smile, " ….So, people die in these stories then? While dancing?"

"Oh, yes! In a duel. After a sword fight. Or sometimes, in madness. Or sad…ness. Despair."

"Which one is the one you showed me?"

"It was just the falling! Not a death. And, you could tell right away…"

"Is there a 'killed by a dragon' death?"

"I haven't heard of a story with that in it."  
He stops wiggling his legs, looking at him upside down from his position on the floor.

"The stories are lacking then."

"I think I could mime that! Just-," he says, sitting back up, "It would go like this. First, I would do 'Fear'." 

He puts his arms out, as if pushing away something revolting, and cowering slightly. In his opinion, the face is what really sells it.

"Then, out comes the fire. 'Raaah!' 'Aaah! Save me!'" 

He arches his back as he bends away from the imaginary onslaught, arms reaching towards the heavens, grasping at nothing. It conveys the futility quite well.

"No, wait. It would look better if I stood up," he says, scrambling to his feet, "Right. So, after miming fear, when the fire is burning them to death. Like this."

The arms repeat the same motion as before, but now, as he arches his back, he slides his legs slowly into a split, down and down, until he reaches the floor. Then, he makes a dramatic fall off to one side, arms still stretched overhead. 

"And then they're dead."

"Very well thought out, if I say so myself."

He makes this huge grin that seems almost too big for the size of his face, beaming with unbridled joy. Such a silly thing. 

The dragon turns at the sound of light footsteps coming towards them. 

"Mother!", Ruadhán calls, still contentedly lying down on the ground. He turns on his side to face her, but it doesn't occur to him to stand up. 

She doesn't answer, nor does she turn her eyes towards him. Not yet.

"My Lord," she says, bowing down, ever graceful, ever the image of beauty. Even her voice makes a delightful sound.

He nods, acknowledging her presence. 

"You may speak, woman," he states in a clear, level voice, "What brings you before me?"

She meets his gaze with her own hazel eyes. Those eyes are the one thing that she cannot change, that never lie about her true self. Even standing before him, a true dragon and by all rights, her sole and legitimate owner, she remains proud and unwavering, beholden to no one but herself.

"I do not wish to take up your valuable time, my Lord, I only came looking for this one," she says, finally glancing down at the child, and raising an eyebrow at him, "as it is time for us to have dinner."

"Of course."

"…Ruadhán? What are you doing on the floor, child?", she asks, clearly exasperated as she pulls him up by an arm, "The ground is filthy… Look at all the dirt on your clothes," she adds, crouching down in front of him and patting him down firmly to get the dust off him.

"I was--"

"I didn't see you leave," she continues, without paying him any mind, "Did you finish cooling down?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I find that hard to believe. And you didn't change out of these. You can't wander around in your sweaty clothes, you have to-"

"To cool down, wash off, and change, I know. I just wanted to show Father what we were practicing. It's fine! I'm fine!"

The dragon raises his brow. He can't tell her that the only reason he's sweaty now is because he was holding him in his hand. She would ask questions and he would have to explain.

"So you came rushing here and started all over again? You can't skip steps Ruadhán! You can hurt yourself, we've been over this!"

"T-that's why I was on the floor! I put my legs up like you told me to, I did the stretches when we were done, and just made a couple of leaps after. It's fine!"

They are both frowning at each other.   
Entertaining, sure, but needlessly drawn out.

"Enough. Ruadhán, do be mindful of not harming my hoard, as you are a part of it too. Go now, eat dinner with your Mother."

She reaches out with her hand to take him by the arm again, but Ruadhán swiftly moves away.

"Dad--! Sorry- …My Lord, won't you join us for dinner?"

The dragon gives it some thought, but in the end, he declines, shaking his head.

"Not today, Ruadhán. …Maybe next time."

The boy looks absolutely crestfallen, but he doesn't press it any further. His Mother steps next to him.

"If it pleases the Lord, we shall take our leave now," she says, back to her composed self. She puts her hand on Ruadhán's shoulder and nudges him to stand up straight.

They show the appropriate reverence towards him, with bowing and similar niceties, and then they start off to the path leading them back towards the part of his collection that houses them both. 

While his back is turned towards the ledge as he circles in place before settling back down, the dragon hears the familiar pitter-patter of tiny feet approaching him once more. He turns to face him, glad to see that this time, the boy remembered to stop a good four or five paces away from the very edge. In his place, the dragon decides to take a couple of steps closer himself to bridge the distance between them.

"Did you forget something, child?" he says, lowering his head to around chest level for him. 

Ruadhán reaches out, placing his hands on his chin, and putting his forehead against it, which he graciously allows him to do. He doesn't move or say anything for a long, long moment, which again, quite magnanimously, he allows him to do. 

He finally lets out a small huff through his nose and Ruadhán obediently lets go and steps back.

The dragon gives him a small smirk, "Is that what you forgot, little red one?"

"I… Um… I just wanted to say good night, and to have a good night's rest, Father."

"Very well. And now that you've done that?"

"…I guess, I have to go eat dinner. And wash off, and change. And go to bed."

"Aye, go on then. Off you go, child."

He nods, looking back at him expectantly before turning to go. He lets him get as far as the end of the ledge, where it connects to the path along the wall of the cave, before calling after him.

"When should I expect you tomorrow?"

He whirls around, a look of surprise on his face.

"I- Yes! I will come after I finish practice! I will tell Mother, and I will do the jumps again, and I will do it better! I will do them, uh…."

" _Flawlessly_?"

"Yes!"

Even at this distance, he can see the way his eyes are glittering with enthusiasm. 

"Very well, I shall make time for an audience with you tomorrow then," he says, disappearing from view as he lowers his neck and curls down atop his bed of treasure. 

"Yes, Father!", comes the familiar call, followed by the sound of little feet sprinting over stone, slowly fading into the distance.


End file.
